“No,” Gabe admitted softly. “He never said and I never asked.”
I thought his lack of knowledge about his ex was kind of sad, but I wasn’t going to bring it up. They were exes for a reason and I was the beneficiary of that fact. Instead, I shifted my mind onto something else that had been on my mind involving Gabe and hair.
“I don’t suppose you’ll let me cut your hair,” I said to Gabe. His eyes widened and I quickly amended, “Trim. I meant to say trim your hair.” I thought maybe he was trying to grow his hair out, but the spooked expression on his face told me there was a lot more at play. “Oh my, you have tonsurephobia.”
“You watch your mouth,” Gabe said, but the rapid way he blinked his eyes told me he didn’t have a clue what I was talking about.
“A fear of getting haircuts,” I told him.
“That’s a thing?” he asked in disbelief. Or, was it relief?
“It’s definitely a real thing and I think you have it,” I told him. “Did you have a traumatic experience as a child?” I could tell by the way he bit his lip there was something in his past. “I promise I won’t laugh at you.”
“Okay,” he said after long moments of searching my face for sincerity. “My mom took me for a haircut at this new place when I was like five or something. It had a carnival theme to it with bright balloons and colors everywhere, sort of like the party your mom threw for me. I was so excited because they had special chairs designed for kids.” Gabe swallowed hard and I bit my lip so not to giggle because he was so damn earnest and cute. “We roll up to that joint on opening day and it was a fucking circus inside and I don’t mean the place was busy, I mean it was packed with clowns.” The hard shiver that worked through Gabe shocked me.
“I’d never seen a clown before then and I was overcome with this insane fear of them. I passed out cold when one of them came bouncing over in those damn big shoes and reached for me. Next thing I knew, I’m waking up in one of those kiddie barber chairs and see myself in the mirror. I don’t know why, but there was a barber standing behind me with a pair of scissors in his hand. Maybe he came running over when he heard the commotion, but all I knew was that I had blood streaming down the side of my face and he and MoMo the clown were both standing behind me.”
“Babe, you’re coulrophobic too?” I asked sympathetically.
Gabe rolled us over suddenly and pinned me beneath him on the couch. “Are you questioning my manhood?” he asked.
That I couldn’t take seriously and burst into laughter. “It means you’re afraid of clowns,” I told Gabe. “Hell, no wonder you’re afraid of haircuts.” I raised my hand and rubbed my fingers over his brows. “I promise you that I’m not at all scary and I won’t make sudden moves at you with my shears.” My words were spoken tenderly without a hint of humor in them because it wasn’t funny. It broke my heart to imagine a terrified five or six-year-old Gabe.
“Okay.”
Gabe and Buddy followed me down to the salon. Buddy was curious because he hadn’t spent much time down there and I thought maybe he sensed Gabe’s distress. I led Gabe to the washroom and took extra time to shampoo and massage his scalp to loosen him up. He seemed to be doing okay when he sat down in my chair. I had to admit that I liked seeing the cape with my salon logo on it wrapped around his broad shoulders. It felt a lot like I was marking my territory without pissing on his leg, which was gross and not at all my kind of thing.
“Ready, babe?” I asked.
“Yep,” he said confidently.
“Coming in hot,” I warned, as I raised my hand that held the shears.
I took my time and talked to Gabe the entire time to keep his mind on a friendly conversation rather than what I was doing. He talked a lot about his childhood and I noticed that none of the stories were about scary clowns, but almost all of them included the brother he idolized.
“How do you know all that stuff about phobias?” Gabe asked me at one point.
“Psych one-oh-one,” I reminded him of how he teased me.
“You seriously took those classes?” he asked.
“I loved psychology and learning about what makes people tick. It would’ve been my minor degree.”
“You were going for accounting and psychology degrees?” Gabe asked. “Were you going to council your clients when they got depressed about the taxes they owed?”
“My father was an accountant and I thought that following in his footsteps might make me more respectable, especially to men that I wanted to take me serious. The psychology was my attempt to understand why people were so cruel to one another.”
The smile slid off Gabe’s face when he heard my explanation, but I didn’t want to see sadness or pity in his eyes. I wanted to see laughter and happiness in them so I bent over his upturned face and kissed him softly until the moment passed. When I pulled back, I was happy to see his love for me twinkling in his dark eyes.
After I finished his haircut, I shaved the back of his neck and dusted it with powder. “I don’t suppose you’d let me shave your face, would you?” I asked.
He looked up at me with such trust in his eyes and said, “I’d almost let you shave my balls, Sunshine.”
“Almost?” I asked but laughed hysterically. That wasn’t a privilege a man gave lightly, if at all. I was madly in love with Gabe, but I wouldn’t let him near my boys with a razor. I left him in my chair so I could get the shaving supplies that I hardly ever got to use.
I gently placed a warm, hot towel on Gabe’s face so it would open his pores. I could tell by the happy humming that came from his throat that he was enjoying it. Once I had the shaving cream lathered up, I removed the towel, and spread it on his face. I was so proud of myself for not cracking jokes about my cream all over his face, although I was certain I would bring it up at some point.
I had been trained in the art of straight razor shaving, but I hadn’t done it many years, so I used a standard razor on Gabe’s handsome face. It was something I would love to do for him in the future though.Look at that.I thought of Gabe and the word “future” in the same sentence and didn’t freak out. I took my time and gave him a close shave, loving that I would feel the softness of his face against mine once we got upstairs.
